I Must Have Order
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: Little did we know that the lovable butler at Downton and the unlovable professor at Hogwarts would have a brief, sweet encounter - and the happy realisation that they both 'must have order'.


Charles Carson had never really fancied London. "The city is too chaotic," he would remark from time to time. _"I_ must have order."

And so, when the respectable butler of Downton learned that his family had urgent business over which to talk in that _disorderly_ city, Carson had thrown a silent, _orderly_ fit in front of Mrs. Hughes. "Why on earth would they extract me from my duties at Downton? I may not be the _King's_ butler, but the position as butler of this house has its importance!"

"Of course it does," acknowledged Elsie slowly, looking at the ground so as to resist rolling her eyes at the man. "But this is your _family_ that needs you! Surely you can pull your weight as a part of it."

"Perhaps, Mrs. Hughes, perhaps," considered Charles contemplatively. He flexed the muscles in his hands, trying to be rid of any anger that could potentially harm the head housekeeper. "But I don't think I owe much 'weight' anyway. I represent my family's older generation now; what use am I to the newfound ideas of this age?"

Elsie sighed quietly and started for the door. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, but I'm _afraid_ your family _cares_ about you! Fancy that!" she chuckled. Before Charles could present a better argument, she was gone.

...

Dolores Umbridge hated muggles. Ironically, however, there were more problems to be solved regarding her _own_ kind: witches and wizards. That problem began with "Harry" and ended with "Potter". How many times had she practically been _forced_ to say it: "I must have _order!"_?

Business with the Ministry of Magic was booming since Albus Dumbledore's revelation that he had, in fact, been training an army of Hogwarts students. Dolores gritted her teeth as she neared the entrance to the Ministry's hidden building. "Dumbledore's Army will _not_ prevail," she whispered with loathing.

The bright-red telephone box lay as ordinary as it always had been amid the bustling city streets, but to Dolores's confusion an ordinary man stood at its entrance.

It was a person in his late sixties, tall and well-dressed. He seemed as if he wished to enter the telephone box, but something from inside the thing had caught his attention. Frightened that the man might have been a muggle, Dolores Umbridge hurried to the scene.

No one could ever know when the newly-crowned Headmaster at Hogwarts was nearby. How _could_ one know, when petite Dolores Jane Umbridge crept behind people silent as a mouse? But her method of gathering all attention far succeeded her little self, and she so acted behind the puzzled stranger. "Eh-_hem."_

Charles Carson turned. His head shot downward when at last he realised that he had not been mistaken: indeed, a tiny woman stood before him, attired in all pink. "Ma'am?" asked he, already experiencing piercing intimidation from the woman. "Can I help you?"

Dolores could not respond. _Something about this man...inspires me,_ thought she. _He is not ill-mannered, no; surely his occupation is of great importance. And his mannerisms appear to tell me that he prefers the countryside...that he prefers _order.

Having sought - but having not received - a response from this peculiarly interesting woman, Charles stood back from the telephone box and admitted, "I - I don't need to use it. Here." He gestured for her to go ahead, but Dolores would not move an inch.

Then her first words: "You strike me as a man of importance. Forgive me for being so direct, sir, but I take pleasure at finding someone of such...such _neatness_ and _composure."_

"And...what about my presence suggests that these are qualities of mine?" Charles held his gaze - meaning that he leaned his head forward - with his appraiser. Suddenly it occurred to him that he hadn't her name.

"Dolores Jane Umbridge, Headmaster at - oh, dear." She paused, wondering how exactly to ask him the _big_ _question._ "Does...the name "Cornelius Fudge" mean anything of significance to you?"

The towering man replied in the negative. Quickly he added, "I am Charles Carson."

Dolores gasped. She looked round her nervously before inquiring, "By any chance, is your purpose here - in London, of course - related to family business? I've been told to greet a man with your name just outside here today." She smiled shyly at him, now understanding completely the situation at hand. _And I told them it wouldn't be a good idea to meet him in front of the Ministry's telephone-box elevator!_

"Why, yes, I have," replied Charles. His curiosity got the better of him: "Might you be...have my family sent you to collect me? I was told to meet someone on this street -"

"Yes, yes," affirmed Dolores, excitement overflowing. "Ah, everything makes sense now! Charles - if you don't mind me calling you that - I have heard so much about your respectable service to the Grantham family at Downton. And I suppose, now, that we must be cousins. Dear me! what were they all thinking, to bring a muggle into the Ministry's headquarters?"

The small woman had turned from enthusiastic to analytical to frustrated all in a matter of seconds. Charles still studied her, his head cocked in utter astonishment from the magnitude of her mind-boggling news. "I don't think I understand, ma'am," he confessed finally. Dolores peered back up at him, for she had been in a trance of great disapproval regarding her family's plans.

"I apologise, Charles. Fortunately I believe we can handle this family business all very smoothly, as we both seem attuned to the beauty of order. And I must -"

"- have order," finished the man automatically. They stared at one another for one long moment, merely interested in what felt like an invisible force that bound them together.

Dolores questioned him slowly. "Where did you - where did you learn my...?"

"I thought _I _invented that phrase," admitted Charles in all honesty. He frowned. "Are we related, then? This similarity between us astounds me."

She nodded, grinning. "Ah, Charles. I thought I'd become the only sane one in our family. They're all mad, I tell you. Not one single reunion, or party, or funeral is ever in ship-shape. Mark my words, I do everything in my _power_ to get them to plan or prepare for these gatherings. But I am certain your occupation hardly falters under your charge."

The man shook his head with longing for her assertion to be true. "Unfortunately not, Miss Umbridge -"

"Dolores."

"- Dolores," Charles stated boldly. The woman beamed at him from below, whereupon he continued: "But I strive to maintain the order we have in the abbey, and thankfully my staff acts accordingly...usually."

Impressed by the butler's mention of his own staff, Dolores verified: "You have an entire staff under your command? Dear me, what a dream! If only I had such...to constrain Mr. _Potter_ and his troublemaking friends!" The woman did not notice Charles's look of confusion until he piped up shyly:

"I apologise, but..._Mr. Potter?_ Who exactly is that?"

The telephone box behind them stirred; a person with a funny-looking outfit appeared instantly from what sounded to Charles Carson like an electrically-operated machine. He turned round to stare; and when his head returned with the most adorable expression of puzzlement that Dolores had ever seen, the woman confessed,

"I think it would be best if you met our _family_ first..."


End file.
